


"NO."

by Verve



Category: Fishbones - Jisuk Cho
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-09 00:53:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1962777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verve/pseuds/Verve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Valentine's tale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Ferris frowned at the brass key that was jammed in mail box #214. It wasn't the first time that his key had gotten stuck; the narrow tin mail box could be very temperamental at times. With a loud sigh, Ferris dropped his messenger bag onto the worn carpet. He grabbed the stubborn key with both hands and yanked hard. It flew out of the hole with a loud pop. 

What a worthless piece of shit.

The landlady had insisted that the key was perfectly functional, but Ferris didn't have the patience for another attempt. He discretely scanned the shabby apartment lobby. The entryway was vacant and the arrows above the two steel elevators were stationary. A security camera was stationed beneath a revolving ceiling fan. The genius who installed the security system for Magnolia Apartments failed to recognize that there were eight blind spots in his design. The camera's field of view didn't include the stretch between mailboxes 100 and 500. Ferris resisted the urge to roll his eyes. What was the point of installing such an incompetent system? It was likely that the landlady begrudgingly had the work done to comply with state regulations. She obviously went with the cheapest bid. 

Ferris rummaged through his coat pocket until his fingertips made contact with a tiny bobby pin. He withdrew the object and carefully fed it into the mail box. It was a trick that Demos had taught him. Ferris could pick any lock in the mail room, but it was vital that the other tenants remain oblivious to his skills. The lock opened with little resistance. He smirked. Sometimes it was useful to have connections with criminals. 

A credit card statement, two ads, and the newest issue of SCIENCE magazine were shoved in the narrow box. His eyes instantly brightened when he saw the outline of an adult T. Rex on the glossy cover. The headline read: "Sue Revolutionizes Paleontology." Ferris briefly wondered who Sue was before stuffing the magazine into his messenger bag. The young Jewish man shut the door and approached a tin garbage bin between the two elevators. It was filled to the brim with fast food wrappings, crumpled newspapers, plastic water bottles, and un-crushed soda cans. Ferris inwardly winced at the unrecycled materials. The landlady was too lazy to order a recycling bin for the lobby. 

Ferris slipped the junk advertisements onto the foul-smelling heap. One pamphlet slid down to reveal a small red envelope. It had been wedged between the two advertisements in the narrow mail box. The crimson envelope was addressed to "Mr. Levinstein." The sender did not leave a name or return address.   
\----

"Stan, get off of me. You're slobbering all over the magazine!"

The chubby pug curled onto his master's lap. He wagged his tail contentedly.

Ferris arched an eyebrow. For some reason, the bitter young man could not resist Stan's warm, round eyes and happy-go-lucky smile. He muttered something incomprehensible and scratched behind the pug's ears. The chubby dog yawned and abruptly fell asleep.

Ferris marked his place in SCIENCE magazine and set it on the table to dry. It was a shame, really. Dog saliva was splattered over a particularly fascinating article about human evolution. Perhaps he should order another copy from the AAAS. Ferris glanced at the red envelope that was sitting on the corner of the table. It looked somewhat suspicious. Maybe it contained a deadly white powder? Ferris was essentially sub-consigliere to the most powerful mafia in South Port. There were many men who would prefer to see him dead. He adjusted the black-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose. "Mr. Levinstein." The handwriting was messy and seemed somewhat familiar. However, Ferris couldn't pinpoint the writer. Torn by curiosity, he acted on a whim and ripped open the envelope. Inside was a ticket.

8:00 PM - 14 February 2010  
Radio City Music Hall  
Row 5, Seat 23  
Billy Idol Greatest Hits Jam!

On the back was a pink post-it. "Ferr, be my Valentine?" The cursive was barely legible. The "I" was dotted with a red heart.

It took less than half a second for Ferris to reach a decision. His fingers itched to crumple the ticket into a million pieces and incinerate it in the fireplace. "Seamus, I'll fucking KILL YOU!"  
\---

Demos took a long drag from his hand-rolled cigarette. The thin Italian surveyed his best friend through half-lidded eyes. "Like I said, you can't turn him down." He rose from the park bench and extinguished the cigarette in a cement ashtray.

Ferris' knuckles were white as he gripped the edge of his seat. His hands trembled involuntarily. "Demos, don't you fucking understand? Is this some kind of sick joke? A fucking bet? Don't you know what would happen to me if your family misinterpreted this 'date?'" The Jewish man felt shocked and betrayed but only anger colored his features. His pale skin was flushed with rage. 

The smaller man was tempted to sigh. However, he remained composed to avoid further offending his friend. "Ferris, I didn't intend to endanger you. I would never wish for you to fall in harm's way. It's just that I feel badly for Seamus. He stopped drinking for six weeks to save enough money for those concert tickets."

Ferris' mouth hung open, ready to spit an acerbic retort, but he was suddenly at a loss for words. Six weeks without drinking... A pang of guilt burned his conscience. Everyone knew that Seamus's drinking problem had worsened since high school. The Brit had slowly become addicted to booze. It must have taken an incredible level of resolve to abstain from alcohol for that long. Seamus usually acted carefree, but there were few joys in his life aside from drinking, Billy Idol, soccer, and cars. His beloved cockatiel, Crackers, had died in 2009. Seamus lived by himself in a worn-down apartment complex on the edge of town. He was unemployed, lost in a limbo between high school and adulthood. 

The lean Jewish man turned away. He pretended to watch a group of kids on the monkey bars. "Okay, I get it. We both know how... things have been for Seamus recently. I'll go under the condition that we are attending the concert as friends. Nothing more. Alright?"

Demos smiled. He seemed simultaneously relieved and proud of his best friend. Ferris was slightly taken aback. It had been a while since he had seen the Italian genuinely smile. When Demos manipulated politicians, he wore a cool yet charming grin. When he interrogated a suspect, his leer was seductive yet predatory. But today, his eyes reflected the lightness and warmth of his smile. 

Ferris fingered the ticket in his pea coat. He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. His back and neck felt stiff. The young man hadn't realized that he had become that tense. 

After Ferris had visibly relaxed, an all-too-familiar smirk reappeared on Demos' face. "I knew that you'd come around! That's why I bought this."

The Jewish man stood frozen in place. Demos pulled a small piece of card stock from his wallet. It read:

8:00 PM - 14 February 2010  
Radio City Music Hall  
Row 5, Seat 24  
Billy Idol Greatest Hits Jam!

Ferris' mouth hung agape. Demos pretended to ignore his friend's reaction but the devious Italian was secretly savoring every second of it. "I saw a blueprint of the music hall and fortunately, you're one seat from an aisle. It was relatively simple for me to purchase the aisle seat adjacent to yours."

"Relatively simple?" groaned Ferris. "Somehow, you stalked down the original occupant of seat 25 and forced him to scalp his ticket! How much did you pay?"

"$1400."

Typical of Demos. No sense of humility.

"Hey, don't give me that look! You should be thanking me," defended the emaciated Italian.

"Thanking you for what?"

"Let's just say that it's for your own protection. Seamus tends to be one of those aggressively 'hands-on' types. Trust me, I would know," said Demos. 

"Oh God."

"Don't worry! I'll be there to swat him away if he goes overboard," he reassured.

"This is going to be such a fucked up Valentine's Day. Someone please shoot me."


	2. Chapter 2

Strobe lights danced across the Radio City Music Hall. The venue was packed; over two thousand fans were yelling, screaming, and crying as the curtain opened. A pyrotechnics display skyrocketed from center stage. The blinding sparks sent the crowd into a roaring frenzy. Seamus rose, cupped both hands around his mouth, and shouted, "HAVE ME BILLY!". Ferris dropped his face into his palm. He wished that he could be anywhere but here.  
The star of the show descended from the ceiling in a rotating steel cage. Billy Idol was clad in tight, shiny, black leather pants and a distressed tank top. Heavy silver chains hung from his belt loops. A thick amber pendant and ornate gold medallion were wrapped around his neck. Billy energetically pumped his fist in the air. The response from the crowd was deafening. Ferris estimated that the noise exceeded 130 decibels. A thundering base beat began pulsing through the music hall, causing the floor to vibrate. A guitarist swung from the rafters to join the singer. Every member of the audience cheered, except for one. Ferris remained rigidly silent. He looked to his best friend for support, but Demos merely smirked and applauded with the crowd. Ferris glanced wearily at his "Valentine." The Brit's lips were trembling. He blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over his cheeks at any moment. Seamus reached for a half-empty beer can and chugged the remainder without a second thought. The can crunched beneath the pressure of his sweating palm.

That idiot is so engrossed in the concert that he's actually forgotten I'm here. I hope that my luck holds out; perhaps this "date" won't be so bad after all. Punk rock can hardly be considered music, though. It's a shame that my ear plugs can't fully cancel the noise.   
The disgruntled Jewish man discretely checked his digital watch. The show had started at 8:05 PM; it was currently 8:15. He inwardly cursed. This concert was a complete waste of time. Taxes were due in less than two months, and mountains of unread financial reports were piled nearly to the ceiling at Crane Markowitz. Some stacks threatened to scrape off the asbestos. Ferris had inherited his father's list of clients. The list was very, very long. Surprisingly, most of the wealthiest clients had selected Harold's son rather than seek a new, more experienced accountant. Some felt that it was their duty to the late Mr. Levinstein. They entrusted Ferris with twisted tax troubles that would stupefy the most seasoned accountants. Ferris had only been practicing accounting for a couple years. The bosses at Crane Markowitz were brutally demanding and cracked down upon the slightest error. The young man felt a constant, invisible pressure to fill his father's shoes. However, Ferris Levinstein believed that he would never be as noble, witty, or kind as the late Mr. Levinstein. There were still days when Ferris deeply missed his father. Nevertheless, his face bore no trace of sentimentality at work. There was an endless stream of numbers to be crunched and records to be filed. It was ironic that death and taxes were the only constants in life.  
Ferris was too preoccupied to notice the large hand that sat on the knee of his trousers. When the hand slowly crept up his leg, the Jewish man began to panic.

"Shhh. Relax, Ferr?"  
He would have screamed, but another hand covered his thin lips. This cannot be happening. Why the fuck isn't Demos helping me? Ferris tried to catch his best friend's attention, but the Italian appeared to be focused on center stage. However, a shadow of a smirk flickered across his pale features. Ferris' complexion changed from a terrified white to an enraged red. That girly bastard would pay! But revenge would have to be postponed. Seamus' hand was wandering toward dangerous territory and Ferris had few options left. He pried open his jaws and bit down hard.  
The Brit reflexively released his "date." A drop of blood ran down the length of his index finger. He nursed the sore digit and gazed at Ferris with large, melancholic eyes. Ferris quickly mumbled a half-assed apology while staring awkwardly at his shoes. After a few moments, Seamus laughed. The Brit threw his arm around the accountant's shoulders and leaned towards his ear. "No worries, mate!" The stench of alcohol on his breath was overwhelming. Seamus was clearly in good spirits again. "I didn't think you were into that kind of thing," he breathed through half-lidded eyes. The Brit tousled his Valentine's short black hair and poked his trademark, boxy glasses. Ferris' eyes narrowed into venomous slivers. Nobody was permitted to touch his glasses; that utilitarian accessory was almost an extension of his skin and bones.  
"Hey, I need a smoke break. Be back later," announced Demos.  
Panic instantly set in. "NOW? Can't your smoking habit wait for like, 25 minutes? The concert is almost over!" pleaded Ferris. Fuck no, PLEASE don't leave me alone with that horny beast! Ferris sent a desperate prayer to Allah, Buddha, Jesus, and Shiva. He begged Demos with misty, chocolate-brown eyes. His perpetual frown had morphed into something that resembled a pout. Demos smirked. "That's a pretty pathetic puppy face. But since I'm in a good mood, you should come with me so we can get some fresh air. Seamus can stay here since Billy's performing the swing act next."  
Ferris bolted from his chair before either friend could utter a word. Freedom had never tasted so sweet! He pushed through the row of seated patrons without muttering a single apology; his eyes never left the glowing green letters that marked the left exit.  
Ferris blinked as his eyes adjusted to the bright lobby lighting. Beer, soda, cotton candy, pop corn, and licorice were being sold at the centrally-located concession stand. Ferris paused near the end of line 8.  
Perhaps he could purchase a can of beer, open the top, and crush a few sleeping pills into the drink. The young Jewish man always carried aspirin and sleeping aids to manage the excruciating migraines that made it impossible to rest at night. Seamus would be too drunk to notice anything peculiar. Ferris followed a pair of perfectly parallel ropes until he came across two hyperactive grade schoolers. The children were swinging from the velvet red cords like monkeys. As the wove among the ropes, they giggled. Neither seemed to care about the other customers who were waiting quietly in line.  
"Charlie! Jess! If you don't get here this instant, I'll tan you so bad--"  
The two troublemakers groaned. However, they quickly became giddy again as they eyed the decadent candy and popcorn behind the glass counter. The two were completely uninhibited and carefree. A gnawing guilt churned inside Ferris's stomach. Sleeping pills and alcohol could potentially be a deadly mix. As much as Ferris loathed Seamus at the moment, he didn't intend to kill his British friend.  
Ferris exited the line empty-handed. He recognized Demos' profile from the corner of his eye. The emaciated mobster was carrying a red and white stripped tub that was overflowing with greasy, artificially flavoured popcorn. The frail Italian could barely wrap his arms around the container. As Demos walked closer, Ferris noticed a gold label near the rim. "Extra-Jumbo-Large, Bacon-Butter Flavor." There's no way that Demos, the picky gourmet chef, would ingest shit like that. It was doubtful that he would sample a single kernel. Ferris adjusted the black-framed glasses over the bridge of his nose.  
"I thought that you said you were on a diet. You were angsting about gaining 1.3 pounds last week. Theatre popcorn packs a shitload of calories. So why the fuck did you buy the Extra-Jumbo-Large size? Are you actually planning to eat all of that? Bacon-Butter sounds like a disgusting flavor. They're all artificially flavoured, but why did you have to choose that one?"  
"They were out of the standard buttered popcorn. No more questions," said Demos. He turned away and disappeared into the the concert hall before Ferris could reply. The accountant was perplexed but he had learned to trust his friend.  
They returned to row 5 and were greeted by an overjoyed Seamus. The Brit embraced Ferris before he was seated. He slurred several phrases of sensual sweet talk. After an awkward minute or two, Ferris was able to push away his intoxicated Valentine and sit beside Demos. The popcorn sat untouched on the mobster's lap. The gargantuan tub barely fit between the arm rests.  
"Hey, do you guys want some popcorn? I'll hand it to Ferris since he has the middle seat," casually offered Demos. He tucked a stray, raven-colored lock behind his left ear.  
Ferris finally understood the use of the popcorn. He gratefully grabbed the oversize tub and placed it on his lap. Seamus grabbed an oily, crispy handful and shoved it in his mouth. "Not bad." He reached for another handful and chewed thoughtfully. "Ferr, you should try some!"  
The overwhelming stench of refried grease and week-old bacon drippings made Ferris mildly nauseated. However, he was in no position to make a scene. The popcorn wasn't kosher but he didn't give a damn. If he complied with this simple request, then perhaps he could keep Seamus distracted with the snack. Ferris' brow quirked as he stuffed a kernel into his mouth. He attempted to smile but failed miserably.  
"That was - good," he gagged. "I won't be able to finish this tub myself. You can have as much as you want, Seamus." The Brit had been notorious for stealing students' lunches during high school. He could never pass up a free meal. Seamus inhaled the stale popcorn like a garbage disposal. He only stopped to occasionally yell and whistle at the end of a number.  
Ferris was grateful for his lap guard. As long as the popcorn was on his lap, his legs and stomach would be protected from groping.  
"Awesome concert, great food, two hot chaps - what a perfect night. You know Demos, I wouldn't mind having a second Valentine," he winked.  
"No thanks. Whatever may have happened seven years ago is long over," dryly stated the mobster.  
"Awww..." pouted Seamus. "Well, I understand if you're playing hard to get. But this is your last chance! Won't you two be my Valentines?" He raised a hand to his chest and bowed overdramatically.

A fraction of a second passed before Demos and Ferris simultaneously answered, "No."


End file.
